


When Daryl Met Jesus

by MyPersonalKilljoy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Slow Burn, ish?, love always starts in a bookshop, ngl, shameless rip off of When Harry Met Sally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyPersonalKilljoy/pseuds/MyPersonalKilljoy
Summary: The first time, it's a five hour car ride where they argue about death, sex and Casablanca.The second time, it was because of a break down.The last time, it's in the Personal Growth section of a book store.(Or, two times Daryl and Paul meet then lose touch, and one time they meet and fall in love.)





	When Daryl Met Jesus

“The first time we met, we hated each other.” Daryl said gruffly, eyes downcast even as his lips twitched in an almost-smile.

“Nah, you didn’t hate me, I hated you.” Jesus interrupted matter-of-factly, before continuing with mirth alight in his big, green eyes, “The second time we met, you didn’t even remember me.”

Daryl simply snorted and rolled his eyes in response, simply acknowledging the long-repeated joke that the two often shared, “Third time we met; we became friends.”

“We were friends for a long time.” Jesus said seriously, a soft smile replacing his usual grin. The two met eyes for a moment, a tender secret passing between them. Perhaps each pondering of their shared longing and pining, the delicate moments they shared before finally admitting and experiencing their love together. It was a truly beautiful few seconds.

“Then we fucked.”

“Then we fell in love.” Jesus said at the same time, instantly bursting into loud, joyful laughter, “Yeah, Daryl took a little longer than me, but we ended up getting married three months later. I know, I know, it only took three months.”

“Twelve years and three months.”

“Pfft, technicalities.” Jesus scoffed.

.o0o.

“Dixon, don’t even worry ‘bout it!” The sketchy dealer said, roughly pulling his oversized jacket back over his shoulder as his eyes darted nervously around. And yeah, Daryl was pretty paranoid himself, especially after Merle ditched him - _again_ \- when he got sent to prison, but, good lord, this kid was fucking terrified. Looked like he hadn’t slept for a week and if he pulled a gun on him again then Daryl wasn’t going to be held accountable for what he’d do. “I know a guy,” he continued after seeing that they were still alone. “He’s driving down to Florida in a couple of days to go to college or something -the bitch owes me a favour.”

Daryl simply nodded and followed him as he set off to the guy’s place -a fucking _caravan_ what the shit.

“Merle getting out, then?” His big, fearful eyes snapped back to Daryl. Creepy as all hell.

He nodded again, partly because he liked to keep his macho, ‘don’t talk to me unless you’re going to ask for a fight’ persona, but mainly because the guy had pulled a goddamn _gun_ on him once during a leisurely evening of meth and beer -and that is a tricky thing to get past. He was too jumpy; it set Daryl on edge. 

The rest of the short walk was in silence, which Daryl was thankful for, because he had apparently missed the lesson in school where the teachers taught you how to hold a conversation like a respectable adult without the help of drugs or alcohol. And wasn’t that just a punch in the nuts -they were two of Daryl’s favourite things. The other thing being his bike, well, his recently sold bike. Which he had to sell to afford his ass-for-a-brother’s bail. So now, not only was he out of a bike, but he couldn’t even get the fucker, which was why he was in this situation.

Asking a sketchy meth dealer for a ride to dumb fuck Waycross, wherever the hell that way, to pick up Merle’s dumb ass and then hitchhike all the way back.

“BITCH!” The dealer shouted, jumping around and freaking out and yelling at some old guy -which basically summed up Daryl’s whole week really. Daryl ignored them both and sat down on one of the lawn chairs out front, absentmindedly opening a bottle of beer sat in the open cooler next to him.

Another day in the shit show that is his life, really.

-

“Hey, are you Daryl Dixon?” Paul asked, careful to make sure his voice is light and friendly, so he wouldn’t get a bullet to the face. He didn’t exactly ‘trust’ his dealer, who was kind of messed up already, so he wasn’t going to bet that any of the guy's friends were that great either. That would definitely be the last time he decided to owe a drug dealer anything for some weed.

Daryl turned around and -damn, that is one pretty face- nodded. His bright blue eyes jumped around as he got a good look of Paul -which didn’t make him nervous or uncomfortable at all no, not even one bit. He looked unfairly hot, dirty blond hair cropped short but curling around the back of his ears, a tank top showing off his lean arms and those _shoulders_. Paul gulped, and belatedly realized that he was just staring at the other man. After an awkward cough he reached over to open the passenger side door, so the guy could come in.

_Oh fuck, don’t think about coming. Oh shit. He probably knows you’re gay, he’s going to leave. He’s going to punch you in the face for perving on him then he’s going to leave._

Despite his panicked inner monologue, Paul managed to scramble a smile and said in his calmest and most heterosexual voice, “I’m Paul Rovia, you’re heading to Ware State, right? Well I’ve made a route and it should only take about six hours, give or take, and we can stop for food or something on the way there, if you want. If you don’t then we don’t- it’s not a requirement – I mean, you don’t have to… yeah.”

Paul trailed off, growing ever more nervous the longer Daryl looked at him in silence. Finally, after a tense moment of staring and an existential crisis on Paul’s part, Daryl finally nodded and asked, in a low, masculine, _not sexy_ tone, “What kind of music you got? If it’s any of that banjo shit, then I’m fucking leaving.”

Paul let out a surprised huff of laughter before starting up the engine.

-

“What?!” Paul shouted, nearly throwing his bag of peanuts out of the open window in disgust.

“So, you would rather be in a passionless marriage than live with the person you had the best sex within your life just because he owns a bar and that’s all he does?” Daryl asked incredulously, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It isn’t about the sex! It’s just not practical, she made the right choice getting on the plane, sex doesn’t matter -you need to support yourself in life, you can’t just live in Casablanca with Humphrey Bogart and pretend real life doesn’t exist,” Paul said, already feeling his face flush at the fact he was talking about this with basically a stranger. A hot stranger, but still.

Daryl pulled into the car park of the diner, a full smirk on his face as he turned to face Paul fully, the street lights overhead making his blond hair even brighter.

“I understand,” he said, nodding slightly as he got out of the car.

Paul stared at his retreating figure in shock, scrambling out of the car behind him. “Understand what? Daryl, understand what?”

“You just haven’t had great sex yet,” he said, before turning around and walking into the diner like a fucking melodramatic _dick._

Paul took a moment to sputter in disbelief before following him through the doors.

“I have had great sex!” Paul said, maybe just a tad bit too loud, as nearly everyone in the diner fell into silence as they all turned to look at him.

_Please, God. Kill me._

“Two, please.” Daryl’s voice broke through the silence as people started to turn back to their meals, only casting brief looks of disgust in Paul’s direction as they took a seat.

“With who?” Daryl asked after everyone had stopped looking at them and when the noise started to pick up. The fucker just looked amused, though a telling blush was painting his pretty cheekbones.

“I- what?” Paul asked, his attention lost as he stared into Daryl’s eyes. Fuck, he was so gay. This wasn’t just bi-curious ‘maybe I would be into a threesome’ kind of gay, this was ‘staring into each other’s eyes in a diner on a date’ gay.

“Who’d you fuck that was so great?”

“Melissa Gordon,” he could have said, who he did indeed have sex with, or even “Nancy Wright”, who said after that Paul had ‘rocked her world’. Hell, he’d even done it with Kacey Henson, who was one of the hottest girls in his high school-she thought he had the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen.

Instead, he choked on his own spit. Probably wasn’t his best moment.

Daryl only smirked and shook his head, looking at the menu once again (like an absolute _dick,_ the hot bastard.)

-

“You had the most complicated order I have ever heard,” Daryl said, lighting up a cigarette from where he was sat in the passenger seat -they only had about two hours left before they reached the prison and the sun was just starting to rise.

“Well, I just know what I want, I can’t help it.” Paul shrugged, his long fringe falling into his eyes slightly, covering the dark, mossy green orbs that Daryl definitely wasn’t jealous of.

Suddenly, those eyes flicked to Daryl and he opened his pretty, full lips to speak. “Ugh, you smoke? That’s a disgusting habit, you know. It’ll be the death of you, I swear.” A pity really, that Paul’s pretty mouth could actually speak.

“Lovely thought to be having first thing in the morning.” Daryl exhaled deeply in Paul’s direction, blowing smoke in his pretty face -the fucker.

He scrunches his nose up like a disgruntled rabbit and waves the smoke away, and if looks could kill then Daryl would be six-feet-under a long time ago, but that glare would give anyone a run for their money.

Daryl did what any sensible person would do and laughed right in Paul’s face.

-

“Oh yeah, Daryl, you’re so dark and mysterious -you’re just a drama queen.” Paul said, rolling his eyes.

“What, so you don’t have a dark side?” Daryl asked, giving Paul a dirty look.

“Of course, I do-“ Paul began, before Daryl interrupted like the walking bag of dicks he was.

“How often do you think about death?” He asked, and it must be the sleep deprivation that was making Daryl look so attractive because Paul would never with a sane mind be so turned on by such a rude and cynical person.

“I think about death,” Paul said defensively, suddenly feeling cornered by the dark turn in conversation.

“I think about death every day, ‘kay? I could spend hours staring at a wall thinking about the hopelessness of life and the inevitable, inconceivable release of death.” Daryl said, cigarette hanging limply in between his thin lips, momentarily forgotten.

“That doesn’t make you deep or anything, it just means you’re a nihilist.” Paul rolled his eyes, refusing to let the laugh threatening to escape his throat come out.

“You want to hear how dark I am?” Daryl asked, his eyes lighting up as he sucks on the cigarette and holy shit, Paul wanted the image of his cheeks hollowing inwards and his eyes gleaming to be imprinted on his eyelids. “I always read the last page of every book I get so if I die before finishing it I’ll know what happens.”

“What? The whole point of reading a book is the suspense of seeing how it ends. That’s not brooding, you’re just an anarchist. What next? Do you ask to see who died before you watch a movie?” Paul exclaimed.

Daryl only laughed at him and asked which road he was supposed to turn off at.

“Okay so you have to turn off at -huh, Dixie Union. It’s just north of Waycross. Got that, Dixie?” Paul smirked, enjoying the scowl that graced Daryl’s face.

“Don’t call me that,” he huffed, turning up the music louder and ignoring Paul’s laughter with impeccable skill.

Soon, they reached the sombre looking prison and Daryl pulled the car to a stop, reaching into his wallet and pulling out some money for gas.

“Well, it’s been fun.” Paul said, grinning as Daryl stepped out of the car.

“Yeah, looking forward to never seeing your face again, ‘ya little shit.” Daryl said, yet another cigarette finding its way to his mouth.

“Likewise, Dixie.” Paul smirked, and with one last wink he pulled the car into gear and set off, only daring to cast one last look in the rear-view mirror.

When he did, though, Daryl was already gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Harry and Sally who? Stealing complete sections of dialogue from mediocre rom coms what? Me? Of course not. 
> 
> But yeah, so they're about 18/19 or so -they're the same age in this, sue me- rn which is my excuse for why they seem so out of character, idk i just feel like daryl would be a bit more cocky and paul a bit more reserved because he grew up in a lot of care homes and just recently realised he's gay so yeah, they will become more and more like they are in the series as they grow up. they're still little babies rn 
> 
> should update this weekly (hopefully) maybe sooner maybe later. kudos and comments always appreciated, don't be afraid to correct me on spelling errors/grammar or anything :)) 
> 
> [yo boi hmu on tumblr](http://hesaidwewerestars.tumblr.com/)


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